


Running Out of Options

by ikoliholic



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Butt Plugs, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Masturbation, Mild S&M, Pining, Regret, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), but not from the Grandmaster, wink wink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 04:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13333500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikoliholic/pseuds/ikoliholic
Summary: “Is this what it was to mourn me, brother?” Loki pleaded.Yes, seven successful days of lies, trickery and brown-nosing for bettering his new life — but Loki knew it would take much longer to escape the plagues of his own mind.





	1. Seven Days in Strange Sakaar

**Author's Note:**

> As he struggles to cope with the death of his brother while simultaneously handling a heap of attention from a certain demented Elder, Loki's first few weeks starting his new life on Sakaar don't go quite to plan...
> 
> ***
> 
> Fic is currently Rated M, but given my past record -- not gonna lie -- it's probably gonna end up Explicit AF.
> 
> Title is taken from the Ragnarok OST, which is amazing, obviously :)

“A fine vintage,” Loki conceded to the slave’s offering. It was a luminescent green liquid, poured into a strange golden chalice— smoke emanating from the surface as if some kind of mystical potion. Of course, Loki knew the drink was neither fine nor mystical. Sakaar bore its own type of magic, but it was not seidr.

And up to now, the wine was _truly awful_.

Still, he gracefully accepted the gold glass and lied about enjoying it, as he had done consistently since falling face-first into this dreadful excuse of a planet, ever-wide grinned and silver-tongued.

He could get used to the taste, in time. Besides, what choice did he have?

“And when will I be sampling _your_ goods?” The Grandmaster asked, conversationally, feigning only half-interest. He was fully clothed and sat on his ‘Special Chair,’ —the chair Loki soon came to understand the crazed leader enjoyed receiving oral sex while sat upon. It was glazed gold, and featured an optional butt plug attachment — also glazed gold. Of course. The half-interest from said Grandmaster was probably because of the ongoing oral sex. Some poor soul with heaving breasts, half-naked and also, incidentally, half-interested.

And Loki’d thought that _he’d_ abused the throne back on Asgard.

“Like I said,” he replied, “it’ll be all the better for waiting.” He licked the rim of his goblet in a ridiculously obvious —but nonetheless seductive— manner. “And I _never_ disappoint.”

The Grandmaster let out a staggered, meandering laugh. “Oh oh oh, it better. And you better not. Remember you owe me the ride of a lifetime, as promised.”

“Quite.” Loki gripped the beverage tight while knocking it back, then placing it down on a tray passing by as his face covered up the sharp tang on his tongue. “Soon.”

It was a dangerous game to play, this, but Loki always did enjoy the knife’s edge.

Honestly, he really wouldn’t much mind being fucked by the Grandmaster, in due course. The guy must be surely half decent if he has an entire space ship dedicated to orgies and fireworks, after all. It has been a while, to say the least.

And he can’t pretend he doesn’t enjoy the attention. Especially one of an Elder.

But— and it was a big but— the attention he’d always craved above all else belonged to someone else. Someone now dead. And right now, the thought of offering himself to _anybody_ else —friend, foe, elder or alien— well, whatever’s left of his soul would never recover from it.

It had been just a week, but Loki felt like he’d endured years of pain.

He lit a candle each night for Thor, once the orgies and parties had finished and he could slip all watchful eyes. His heart was broken, beneath it all, and tonight was no exception. Seven days he had been here, and already he’d managed to lie, trick and brownnose his way to the upper echelons of the lavish, insane Sakaarian Citadel. The quarters given to him were their own distinct brand of lavish— space-ornate, gaudy colours everywhere and bursting with excess. Loki had to admire the front of it, even if it was not to his own personal tastes.

He kneeled to the ground, resting his elbows on the bedside table where his seidr-borne candle was emanating its illusion of light; hands clasped together and head bowed down.

“I should be rejoicing. I am _trying_ to rejoice for all that you were, Thor, but I can’t.” Tears prickled at his eyes all too quickly. He blinked them into retreat. “You were not supposed to die like that. I panicked.”

He thought back to those last moments on the Bifrost, and Odin’s death. How he’d watched Thor’s hammer crumble into a hundred pieces, as if it were naught but dust. Hela blazing up toward them in fury and malevolence. They’d stood no chance…

Yes, seven successful days of lies, trickery and brown-nosing for bettering his new life — but Loki knew it would take much longer to escape the plagues of his own mind.

***

It is another full week before Loki has the appetite for food again. Not mere front for the various alcohols and delicacies the Grandmaster offers in continued surplus (the delicacies were the only option allowed to be refused, of course), but a rumbling in his stomach for actual sustenance. Something other than brightly-hued beverages. Something real.

He could just let himself die from the hunger—or alcohol poisoning. It would take a very, _very_ long time, granted, but it could be done. The thought had crossed his mind on more than one occasion since… but no. The opportunity to one day overthrow a crazed Elder and rule a crazed planet somehow keeps a spark ticking within his core. Besides, it is only right that Loki should endure a life without Thor, if only for all of the times he had made the inverse a painful burden for his brother to bear. Alone.

So alone he went, right down to the lower rooms of the extravagant labyrinth that was the Grandmaster’s Complex, exiting onto the dirty, rubbish-laden streets. It was a massive contradiction.

There were a great many people outside in the bustling metropolis, and yet Loki felt alone. Insignificant. It did not necessarily feel bad — at least he felt _something_ , the numbness of shock and grief was finally beginning to melt away.

He worried what he would find lurking when it was gone.

There were market stalls stretched down one street that was less obstructed with scrap metal and shit. Some of the food smelled quite good, and there was a vast array to choose from. Loki felt his stomach gargle.

“I’ll take two of those, please.”

The strange, bright pink, three-eyed beast running the stall gave him a suspicious look, then slabbed the two barbecued hunks of meat onto the tabletop. “Ten Units.”

“Ten? But it says ‘two for five’ on the display.”

“Ten.” It bared its teeth, “Or none at all.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Cheapskate,” it murmured, throwing him a complimentary frown. “Wearing garb like that.”

“What is it, anyway?” Loki asked as he picked it up and inhaled. The aroma was delicious.

A smirk. “Better you don’t know.”

He’d no doubt eaten much worse over the past decade, and it tasted as good as it smelled, so Loki shrugged and plodded away. It reminded him of a particular hunting trip he and Thor had taken as boys, where they caught and killed a beast, rumoured to be laced with seidr.

Cursing himself for thinking of his brother _again_ , Loki threw the rest of the meat away — only to find the pitiful scrap ambushed by a group of starving children seconds later.

The place was vile. It would surely benefit from Loki’s noble leadership — in time. Asgard didn’t do so bad, under his rule. Well, until Thor showed up.

Thor, Thor, Thor. There was no respite from it, no corner in which Loki could turn to and forget his dead brother for more than a precious few moments. It was agonising.

“Is this what it was to mourn me, brother?” he pleaded, later on that same night, crouched down on his knees once more to the flickering flame. “I hope you look down upon me in pity now, Thor. I hope you forgive me.” Tears streamed uncontrollably down pale, hollowed cheekbones. “For I cannot forgive myself.”


	2. Starving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit angsty. Oops.

Each day grew harder than the last, and yet Loki —at least to those around him— somehow became more fluid, sociable, fun. He drunk more and more alcohol in the Grandmaster’s complex, surrounded by indulgence and sex at every turn. Yet still, he could not bring himself to fully partake. He paid his dues with his tongue in other ways instead.

Stories. He regaled with tales he used to tell on Asgard to willing ears and excited eyes, often around camp fires or in cosy taverns and feasting tables. Tales about hunting and glory and warrior victory. Tales he’d lived and breathed, with Thor and Sif and The Warriors Three.

Tales he was determined would live on, even if everything else were defeated under Hela while he remained in an unknown part of the universe.

The interest on this particular evening was moderate, and the Grandmaster seemed well amused— even kept his dick in his pants and everything, Loki noted. Progress.

“Were you such a fighter?” A blue man with four arms asked him.

“Me? Of course not.” Loki lied and gestured to his own slender physique, “I like the finer sports in life, as you can see. I am no such barbarian. They are just simple tales from home.”

He could not reveal his strength; it would jeopardise his good favours…

“This is your home now.”

Behind the smile he offered, Loki died a little inside each time he heard that.

The tales would live on, even if he could not claim the glory of them.

*** 

The following morning — yes, _morning_ — he entered the Party Pit Room to no such comfort. He found the Grandmaster being sucked dry by… well… Loki was unsure if it was beast or man. And he was _definitely_ sure that the crazy ruler did not mind either way.

“Care to join?” Grandmaster had said, in that casual voice. As if he were offering Loki a piece of bread or something equally mundane.

“I-uh-,” Loki froze, wrinkled his nose. “Breakfast first, I think,” and gestured back to the door from where he’d came— bolting quickly and bumping into numerous partygoers as they went about their morning partying business.

“It’s storyteller guy!” Four-arms said.

“Soon!” The Grandmaster chortled between groans in the background. “Soon, Loki boy. You can’t tease us forever with what’s behind that sexy little blue number…”

Loki’s cheeks reddened as he continued his swift exit.

Later, as he crumbled a crusty bread roll between his fingers, in no mood to actually _eat_ it, he allowed his mind to wander. Back on Asgard, it was legend that Loki would fuck anything with legs. Or rather, it _had_ been legend, if there were anything still remaining of home. They were tales he would rather _not_ tell here. And while the Grandmaster would know none of these rumours, or particularly care, it really felt like Loki’s past was brazenly haunting his present.

The rumours were not true, incidentally. Though perhaps not without basis.

One time, Thor had caught him masturbating in a very compromising position and…

It was all Loki could think about for the rest of the day.

When he laid in his chambers that night, he felt, mixed with the permanent grief, a wave of shame and desire that he could not fathom or flush away.

It had been an almost everyday occurrence for him, back when he was Guise-Ruling Asgard. More often than not, after watching his favourite autobiographical theatrical performance, he’d summon a glamour of Thor and bring himself off in front of it— usually pretending it were his brother making those strained noises of satisfaction or offering a flick of wrist.

The desire ebbed through his long, lean body, and it was then Loki realised he had not eaten a thing all day. Worse than that, he could no longer shut down the sad truth that he had not fucked nor been fucked in many, _many_ years now.

He was starving.

He snuck down to the orgy and fetched some wine —well, _almost_ wine, along with a platter featuring a selection of breads and cheeses — _almost_ breads and cheeses, without gaining the attention of any participant. He was not interested, despite his yearnings. Despite the stretch.

From his bed, he tore off pieces of the bread and this time placed delicate chunks onto his tongue, savouring each and every crumb. He licked his lips when he finished, washed it all down with the rest of the goblet and, just as he had already known he would the instant he’d felt the familiar desire tingle his limbs, he brought a languorous palm to half-hard cock, thinking of nothing and no-one save for his brother.

They had shared only a handful of such intimate moments together, Thor and he. The first night of such remained the only one in his life where each moment seared the very fabric of Loki’s mind.

There was nobody before Thor. He had taken a small number of other partners since, though they were few and far between. Loki was a fan of deprivation, and _after_ Thor, well, what was a meagre snack when one has already been spoiled by booming feast? Nothing quite compared, no matter how indulgent or beautiful. No matter how many times Loki had considered trying. In the end he just waned, gave up — resorted to his own imagination, and the occasional arduous glare of his brother’s glamour urging him on.

Tonight he could not even bring himself to conjure up any such glamour; too exhausted with grief, he was. Besides, he did not want electric blue judging his pitiful attempts at pleasure. No. Instead, he closed his eyes and imagined the two of them together, frolicking.

Thor’s chambers. Loki could somehow smell it— the heady scent that used to fill the room. Back as Guise-Ruler of Asgard, he would glamour himself a disguise and sneak into his brother’s old chambers to rove through personal items; often finding himself on the bed and inhaling what remaining scent lingered across Thor’s bed pillows.

His brother did not smell all uru and blood and sweat and victory as one might imagine — not always. Sometimes he smelt of earth; skin kissed by sunshine and sea salt. His beautiful blonde hair was a concoction of herbs and oils to decipher. Other times —special, rarer times— Thor smelt like _dampened_ earth after a downpour of rain. Loki assumed it was when he was feeling conflicted or angry.

That first night, Thor was fresh from bathing, and had carried the heady aroma of jasmine with it.

Oh, _that_ _night_. Back when they had been young enough to be foolish regarding consequences — and yet old enough to know better…

…Loki stuck lean, wanton fingers into his own mouth from one hand as his other hand continued to stroke his now-leaking cock. Faster, though still measured. His heart was pounding in his chest, breath stuttering and catching in his throat as slick fingers circled a nipple into stiffness in rhythm with the stroking.

Thor would be rougher, yes. If he were to still desire Loki thus, Thor would not have the patience nor the discipline to deny himself of what he wanted. He would throw Loki to bed, perhaps. No, he would take him there and then, wherever it would be in the citadel— push him up against wall or down to the cool stone floor… He would not wait, would not _hesitate_ to bring Loki to the brink of exultation with rough palms and greedy fingers and have him begging for it again— and again— and—

As the elation wore off, Loki realised he was thick in tears.

His brother was gone. His home was gone.

His hope was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye-bye M Rating, hello masturcry!  
> Thanks for reading. I heart comments btw; and you can find me [here on Tumblr](https://ikoliholic.tumblr.com), should you be that way inclined.


	3. Sexual Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turned a little kinky. Oops.

There was something about her that just seemed… different. Loki couldn’t quite place it, but somehow, he felt less on an alien planet whenever glancing in her general direction.

Despite her hostile, surly and contemptuous expression.

She had no friends — probably a direct result of aforementioned expression, and yet Loki had witnessed the Grandmaster talk very respectably of this woman on no less than three occasions now. A scavenger of some sort, and a very good one at that; who’d earned her place on Sakaar with impressive skills that presumably didn’t involve whoring. Well, not in the traditional sense anyway. Her services were clearly in-demand — the Grandmaster had not stopped blithering on about the fact that his beloved ‘Champion’ was brought in by her.

She could be a useful ally. Loki wanted to know more.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, taking the seat beside her. The bar was not in the ornate, VIP part of the complex; it was in the dark basement. He’d guessed the lower prices would attract hardened drinkers and he was correct.

It was a pit full of fresh catches; slaves for the gladiatorial arena, getting prepped for battle behind neon bars. Despite all this, the surroundings were not totally reprehensible, and it was fairly busy. Loki would come here again, whenever he’d next feel need to escape the upper echelons.

The Scrapper gave him a look of revulsion, followed by a huge, belching burp.

“Not like _that_ ,” he corrected himself. He had little interest in courtship and sex, despite the seeming inevitability while on this planet. “It’s just…I’m a long way from home, and I’d really like some company.”

“Yeah?” She glugged down the rest of the huge bottle and made a face of indifference, “I don’t care.” It rolled to the floor with a clink as she turned to the impervious bar tender. “Put it on my—” she began, but then her eyes lit up, “—actually, on _his_ tab. And I’ll have the same again. Times two.”

“Make that three,” Loki added with a cloying smile.

She chugged the bottle, letting out a small sigh of refreshment before wiping her mouth and burping again, eyeing Loki as he took a polite sip from his own. “Thought you were more of a cocktail guy.”

“Oh?”

“I saw you.” She placed the bottle down with more care this time. “In the Party Pit. Earlier today. Yesterday, too.” She smirked, “Drinking deep from whatever multicoloured monstrosity you could get your hands on.”

Loki thought that _she_ was probably not one to talk, considering the quite glaring alcoholism, but he smiled genially, saying nothing of his real thoughts.

“I’m very amenable.”

“I bet you are,” she said through another burp.

“I’m Loki.”

“I bet you are.”

Loki raised a judgemental eyebrow at that. “What’s your name?”

“Scrapper 142,” she said, swigging from the second bottle.

“Where are you from?”

“Nowhere.”

“Sounds lovely. I’m formerly of As—”

“I don’t care.” She took another long gulp. “Thanks for this. You can leave me now.”

“What, already?” Loki said. “I’d assumed that—”

“What, because you bought me a drink I’d be a talking puppet for you?”

“Well, _no_ , but I was—”

“Just leaving?”

Loki sighed, conceded. Perhaps another time she would talk, but he was doubtful. It would take weeks, if not months of trying.

As he walked away from the bar, Scrapper 142 gave him the briefest look of curiosity.

“See you around, _Lackey_ ,” she said; a smug, knowing look sweeping across her face. “Do enjoy the upcoming festivities.” Then, she belched loudly and ordered another two drinks in order to forget the conversation completely.

Loki did not forget.

***

“It’s my birthday tomorrow!” the Grandmaster gave a toothy grin. Loki had come to realise that, ‘ _It’s my birthday tomorrow,’_ was in fact, code for, ‘I’m having a space orgy tomorrow,’ so he knew to politely decline.

“Ah, congratulations,” Loki smiled. “So soon already?”

The Grandmaster gave another dazzling grin. “Well, you know, I missed a lot of birthdays a few centuries back, so I’m making up for that dry spell.”

“Good for you,” Loki smiled and sipped his drink.

“And will you be joining us for the festivities?”

“Oh, I’m afraid not. I-I have to give my hair a most thorough blow dry tonight.”

The Grandmaster’s face was a conflicting array of thoughts as he sauntered Loki to one side.

“Look, I _love_ this little thing we got going on here, baby,” he began, tequila-soaked breath both nauseating and intriguing. “But you know you’re gonna have to give Daddy the goods real soon, right?”

Loki’s mouth went dry as the Grandmaster smoothed wayward strands of black hair down. “I mean, I’ve got ‘em coming out of my ears as you know, but _you_ …” He let his hand wander across the tight blue leather of Loki’s clothing, before retracting it zealously. “You’re coming real soon. For me. Okay.”

It wasn’t really offered as a question, and Loki had said no so many times it was difficult for even _him_ to think of a plausible excuse not to attend the festivities. So instead, he bit his lip and widened his eyes.

“Don’t you think we should wait, just a little while longer?” He faltered just a little — “ _Master_.”

“Oh. Oh oh _oh_ ,” the Grandmaster wobbled his head in excitement. “You are, oh! I just cannot wait, I really can’t…” He shoved Loki across the room and into another; a private room, responsive only to the Grandmaster’s secret code: _5318008_

Loki’s breath ratcheted about his lungs. He had truly no idea what to expect. Would the Grandmaster be gentle or violent with him? Would Loki be able to think of anyone else except Thor?

“I got a little gift for you.”

The panic subsided a little as the Grandmaster handed him a medium-sized, canary yellow box tied with a shimmering blue ribbon.

“You shouldn’t have,” Loki gave a genuine, if a little guarded, smile. He really _did_ love gifts; and the Grandmaster was quite good at them. He flushed as he remembered the ridiculous shopping spree when he first found himself on Sakaar; the Grandmaster had had all of his new garments tailored for him. Such a pretty whore, he was turning out to be.

“Anything for my gorgeous little demigod,” Grandmaster replied, eyes glazed and bashful.

Loki’s panic rose back up his throat as he opened the box’s contents.

“You… shouldn’t have.”

An assortment of butt plugs. His expression froze in a fake smile, but the Grandmaster remained thankfully oblivious as he sauntered up and snatched the box away.

“I want you to play with them while I’m gone, _but_ you’ve gotta save yourself for me and me alone. Do you understand?”

“I…do.” Loki’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. “Yes, of course.”

“Great!” The Grandmaster, excited once more, took the smallest plug from the box. “Start from here and work your way up, and remember—”

“No touching.”

“ _No_.” He gave a wistful smile. “Mmm, eager little thing you are. No. No coming, but you can _touch_ all you like. I mean, you’ll be wearing them all day, so I really think you’re gonna wanna touch a _little_.”

Loki gulped. “…All day?”

“Oh yes, that’s very important. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Of course not.” He thought of his dead brother, their forlorn home. “Thank you for such an appealing gift.”

Grandmaster seemed genuinely pleased with himself, “Hey, what are Daddies for?”

 _Not this_ , Loki thought, but he offered his appreciation with a bashful smile.

***

He cried under the hot jets of the shower. Cried and cried, somewhere safe, where he couldn’t hear his own tears because the sound of water and blaring Sakaarian Metal drowned them out.

Granted, he’d done some strange and unseemly things in his life, but Loki never thought he’d end up as whore to a lunatic Elder, commanded to wear anal plugs and dress in the prettiest leather robes money could buy.

But needs must. Or was that rather _butt needs must?_

Norns, he never thought he would miss his brother so much.

As he went to summon a flickering flame to remember Thor, he imagined the look on his brother’s face when he saw him last; of words that cut deep lacerations into his soul.

_“I saw you die. I mourned you, I cried for you.”_

Loki was spared the pain of watching Thor die, though his imagination spared him no such mercy. Hela would have torn him into pieces as she had with Mjolnir. Her strength was stupefying.

When he was done talking to his dead brother that evening, he cast a curious glance over to the little yellow box.

“What you’d think of me now, Thor.” He said it with something of a smile on his lips. “A filthy, depraved soul I am, to stick an object right up my arse at the call of a madman.”

At least they were beautiful things; all gem-encrusted and smooth, polished metal. Probably solid gold, or whatever the hell passed for the most precious metal this side of the universe.

He rolled the smallest of the toys between his palms, and his eyes lit up as he remembered an event involving Thor from just over two hundred years ago. “Ah, but maybe you wouldn’t think it _quite_ so depraved. After all, there was that milk churning incident.” He could not help but let out a stuttered laugh. “Brother, I really took one for the team that day.”

He placed the plug back into its box and set it aside. As he slid into bed, his mind wandered in the semi-darkness of the room; neon light shining through the curtains. He could have it pitch black, but for some reason he _hates_ such darkness now.

Canary yellow caught his eye. He felt excitement lurch in his stomach as he went to grab. Even more so when he brushed fingers over the largest of the set, letting it slide into his mouth… No, too large. It would surely hurt. Not yet.

Eventually, he agreed with himself on a medium-sized, for he was too stubborn and proud to start out small. He slicked it with saliva, pressed it up against his hole, feeling immediate, rigid resistance. Some lubricating oil, just to ease things a little…

It burned as it stretched him open, but Loki did not mind — far from it, in fact. He moaned gently in pleasure, revelling in the silks of his bedsheets against his naked, clammy flesh.

He throbbed, he _ached_. Could think of nothing else save for the sweet release of the orgasm cresting already in his chest. It had been so long since he’d had _anything_ in there that he felt fit to burst at first contact, cock flush against his belly and ready to spill from just one touch.

He wrapped fingers around his shaft and came hard with a reverberant cry — and it was most definitely _not_ the Grandmaster’s name that fell from his lips.

Once the pleasure ebbed away, he felt the pain of the stretch once more, but decided to let it burn for a while yet, out of curiosity.

Tears of nostalgia, elation and pain soon cloyed for attention, as sleep continued to evade. Loki let out a sufferable sigh to the night.

“What will I do without you, brother?” he asked, wishing Thor was there to answer.


	4. Tonight is The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but I'm determined to finish this fucker. Enjoy!

“Tonight is the night,” Loki said. As he glared at himself in the mirror, he grimaced: an echo of his past self was beginning to show. An echo he’d rather forget. Blue-green eyes, bright against the pale hollows of his cheeks, looked sad and hungry, _so_ hungry. He was losing weight, gaunt, hopeless. Breaking point.

He knew not what else to do.

He was going to suck some cock and get on with his new life.

Lamenting his brother was no longer an option. The pain was too much to bear. Instead, he omitted the pain and tears, thinking only of the pleasures from last night. The toys he’d been given, as though he were a mere pet to the Grandmaster’s fancies — which he supposed he was in a way, had brought about _intense_ satisfaction. He thought about sliding one of the lavish plugs up his arse once more, before going about his day, but as the heat crept up his face he decided against it.

He might act the goat, but he was no pet.

***

After an over-indulgent breakfast, filled with breads and pasties and sweet, sticky fruit sauces (and some strange rashers of questionable but tasty meats), Loki wandered around the many party rooms, most of which were deserted.

“Grandmaster busy working,” said a brusher-upper, who had thin, stick-like arms and a triangular face. “No partying until later.”

“I see,” Loki replied. He ignored the fact that it seemed almost an omen, given how there’d been ‘partying’ in the rooms pretty much since he’d arrived on Sakaar. So instead, he found himself down in the alcohol-strewn mess of the gladiator pits, hoping he would find his new Scrapper acquaintance.

“She’s scrapping,” the beastly bar tender told Loki, as he handed him a rusty teacup filled with _special_ brew, leaning in closer. “Word is there’s an exceptional find, somewhere in the distant heaps.”

Loki gulped it down and requested another, making sure he showed great interest. “Exceptional?”

The bar tender nodded. “A contender. Good sport.”

“Do you think she’ll manage to capture it?”

“Best there is.” Another sage nod. “If Scrapper 142 can’t capture it, nobody can.”

“I see.” Loki swilled his second drink down, grimacing as it burnt the back of his throat. “Another, please.”

He had a few more rusty teacups and gleaned information, just enough until the burning ebbed to his fingers and toes. Then, he thanked the beast and gave some extra units before he left — a graceful stagger to the exit. Whatever hellish, potent alcohols were served in the pit, they were certainly most effective; Loki felt more giddy and lightheaded than he’d been in decades. Perhaps this was why the Scrapper was an alcoholic…

He’d almost completely forgotten he was on an alien planet and, in fact, utterly miserable, with everything he knew and loved in ruins. He felt positively chirpy and languid, oh yes!

Until he threw up in the glass elevator that is, vomiting hideous pinky purple by the pint.

Drunkenly dragging himself into bed at lunchtime felt like a new low, Loki had to admit. Especially with chunks of puke knotted in his hair.

***

Thor’s eyes were wide and resolute, heated with anger.

“You’re alive?” Dream-Loki said in disbelief. He reached out to touch, and discovered he could not.

“Do you ever doubt me?” Thor replied, eyes still stormy grey and crackling electric. He looked different somehow. Changed. The thunder rumbled; Loki felt the earth beneath him shatter to pieces.

He was in free-fall then, green cape swirled around him, looking up toward a blur of red and gold — splintering, _consuming_ …

He jolted awake. Dripping in his own sweat, the bedsheets clung like a silken cocoon.

Was it hallucination, or was it omen? Loki did not know, but he couldn’t ignore the soaring hope in his heart.

His head throbbed with possibility he shunned down. No. He would _not_ go down the road of delusion again…

Eyeing the mirrored potions tray on his dressing table, he flopped out of the bed and clambered toward it. Trembling fingers fumbled with the various miniature glass vials containing an array of multicoloured Sakaarian concoctions. There was an Alcohol Alleviator somewhere in there, surely?

Finding the amber liquid, he popped the cap and drained the bottle, feeling its immediate effects. His muscles became steady and limber once more, his mind a pleasant drowse instead of a whirlwind of chaos.

He would drink plenty more alcohol tonight. He would drink and fuck, and he would forget it all.

***

The room was heady with the scent of jasmine, masking the debauchery. Somewhat.

Loki felt on top form — not too drunk that he had no claim of his own faculties, but just enough to be invulnerable. All traces of vomit now devoid.

He had the Grandmaster’s full attention; a whispering pall to his ears.

“Were the toys to your fancy?”

“Oh yes,” Loki replied, coyly. “In fact, the one I’m wearing right now is giving a most pleasant _stretch_.” He does not lie.

The Grandmaster gave an audible swallow. “You tease me, you really do.”

“I tease no more,” Loki fluttered his lashes while sipping his beverage. “Tonight is the night.”

“To…tonight?” The Grandmaster was all but gleeful. “You’ve got me all tingly and hard—”

A tinkling bell chimed, and Topaz, the Grandmaster’s rather surly right hand woman, appeared as if from nowhere. “Scrapper 142 seeks a meeting, sir.”

“How exciting!” He gesticulated wildly. “This is turning out to be a truly terrific day!” he turned to Loki, “The promise of your sweet ass _and_ a summons from my favourite Scrapper?Oh it’s just too much! She brought me my champion, you know. He is extraordinary.”

Topaz rolled her eyes as Loki smiled mutely.

“So you have said.”

“I will be _right_ back. In about two hours. Or ten. Go nowhere, my pretty young thing.”

Well, where else did Loki have left to go?

***

He regaled stories of Asgard over the hours, enjoying the enraptured few remaining around him on the sofa.

“And then… I let go!” He said, telling the story truthfully. First time for everything.

His audience laughed and gasped in unison…

And then it happened.

“Loki? Loki! Over here!”

Thor.

It was omen, not hallucination.

Omen idiot, about to ruin everything.

“You’re alive?”

“Yes, of course I’m alive.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here…”

Loki is in a haze. It’s everything he wanted, and yet how _typical_ of Thor to arrive at just the worst time. They quiz each other for a brief moment before the Grandmaster has Thor dragged out of the VIP zone by some guards.

No need for an Alcohol Alleviator now… Loki is stone cold sober once more.

Thor is alive.

***

After a rather unsuccessful glamour-appeasement visit to Thor’s containment unit, which is in the piss-ridden, spatially-warped gladiator cell, Loki stayed in his bedroom. Well away from the Grandmaster.

Not that it mattered. A knock on his door ten minutes later ordered him to the lunatic’s company.

“A contender for my champion and a nice little frolic session with my sweet Assbergian,” Grandmaster commented, grazing his hand up Loki’s thigh.

“Forgive me, Grandmaster,” Loki looked solemn and respectful as he could. “I fear I am now too frail and emotional, after my run-in with Thor.”

“Oh… you guys weren’t—” Grandmaster mimics the universal finger-in-the-hole gesture “—where you?” He did it again. “Because we can arrange a menage—”

His face reddened. “We are brothers!”

“You said adopted. I thought you meant like _broooothers_.”

“In any case, _no we did not_ ,” Loki lied.

“So what’s the problem?”

He couldn’t quite work out why he didn’t want to tell the truth. Not like the Grandmaster had any damned morals…

“Ding! Time’s up! You’re officially testing my patience.” He grabbed the stick off Topaz and shooed her away (rolling eyes again). “Drop to your knees, please. I’ll go slow. Ooh, that one rhymed!” He mumbled on as he unbuckled his pants. “Just open wide now.”

So, as the Grandmaster’s cock pumped in and out of Loki’s fortunately—or _unfortunately_ — widened mouth, Loki thought bitterly of how he wished to taste his brother’s cock instead. How one day he _might_ get to taste again, because Thor lives.

As he choked the hardened, slick flesh down the back of his throat, he grimaced then: all the grief had been for nothing. He’d cried and cried and _cried_ … starved and denied himself, and _this_ was how the Norns saw fit to repay him?

Thankfully, the Grandmaster appeared more interested in himself than Loki. He was staring up at the mirrored ceiling, watching his cock pump in and out of Loki’s face…

Anyway, would Thor be so forgiving? Probably not. He’d be angry. Fuck Loki’s mouth until his jaw broke, perhaps. Slap him around a bit. Tie him up.

Loki’s own cock hardened at the thought of lying merciless to Thor’s punishment. He moaned too, let his mind wander the remembered curved planes of his brother’s body.

And actually, the Grandmaster’s cock was pleasant enough. It tasted clean and well-oiled, and he knew he could have worse; much worse.

Still, as the Grandmaster came, he pulled his cock out of Loki’s mouth and let the come splatter all over Loki’s vacant face, knocking him straight back to humiliating reality.

“Take your pretty little plug out—” a tinkling bell chimed again…“Would you look at that? Timed to perfection today— for me, anyway. Duty calls, my dirty little Assberg.” He left Loki kneeling on the floor. “Jizzabelle, come and clean his face, would you? Finish him too if he wants— do you want?”

“I—”

“Doesn’t matter. Jizzabelle will take care of it.” He buttoned himself up as _Jizzabelle_ sauntered mechanically behind an embellished panel. “Not bad. You’re not bad, you. A little better at the talking than the doing, but we’ll ease you right into it.” He smacked Loki’s ass. “I look forward to next time. And keep that plug in, baby.”

Jizzabelle turned out to be half crude sex cyborg, half crude cleaner. Figured.

“Can I finish your pleasure?” It rumbled in a smooth android voice. “I am sexually programmed in a variety of positi—”

Loki wiped the come from his face and grimaced; ever the picture of decorum. “I’m _quite_ fine, thank you.”

“I can remove the Grandmaster’s precious spend from y—”

“—If you want to not be disembowelled, I suggest you leave now.”

So Loki was left alone in the chamber, wondering what the hell he was going to do next.

Because evidently, he wouldn’t _be done_ anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hey on Tumblr!


End file.
